


Sweet Cream

by h0ldthiscat



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 06:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5858656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h0ldthiscat/pseuds/h0ldthiscat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cream’s in the fridge,” he mumbles, pointing vaguely. </p>
<p>“We have a fridge?” She furrows her brow. “Where?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Cream

She regrets it the moment she gets out of her car in the parking lot. The satiny material of the bra is clinging to the cotton of her shirt, catching and pulling.

You're not 30 anymore, she chastises herself. _You can't just pull lingerie out of the back of your closet and wear it to work on a whim._ But as she hits her stride--heels clicking against the pavement, hair bouncing at her shoulders as it loses its curl in the humidity--she feels young again. She remembers the innocence of those first few years; even after she'd been taken, even after Melissa, she'd still felt safe and comforted walking into the building on Pennsylvania Ave. She felt comforted knowing that he was in the basement, that no matter how impossible things seemed, he'd always had an answer, no matter how ridiculous it was. 

She wonders how he has not run out of explanations yet, how he finds the strength to keep asking questions when all he gets are more dead ends. She knows that for a while, it was the questioning that drove them apart, his incessant inquiries that opened doors and lead down neverending hallways. Now his queries have brought them back together. 

_Professionally, anyway,_ she tells herself as she adjusts the strap of the lacy bodice beneath her blouse.

Scully swipes the temporary badge they've given her at the front security checkpoint and bypasses the elevators to take the stairs down to the basement. Her schedule at the hospital has little wiggle room, and her workouts three times a week are hard to stick to, even on her lightest days. When she and Mulder had chased down a suspect three days ago, her heart had pounded for hours afterwards, reminding her of her age and the strength of her knees, although she's still not sure if that was because of the way he’d grinned at her in the car on the way back to the office. 

Her breasts bounce as she descends the stairs briskly, reminding her that lingerie is neither comfortable nor practical. Hopefully they won't be doing any running today. 

It smells of coffee when she opens the office door; the thick mildewy smell that had met her three weeks ago when she’d first reentered the office is almost gone completely. Mulder sits at the desk, laptop open but looking at his phone. 

“Morning,” he says, glancing up, then back to his phone, then back up again. 

She merely raises an eyebrow at him and takes a fraction of a second to rake her eyes over his crisp white shirt and surprisingly conservative tie. 

“Coffee if you want some,” he says, pointing to the tiny 5 cup maker resting precariously on top of the lone file cabinet they've managed to get down here. 

She pours herself a cup, the travel mug she'd made at home already empty from her commute. 

“Cream’s in the fridge,” he mumbles, pointing vaguely. 

“We have a fridge?” She furrows her brow. “Where?” 

He points again and she still doesn't see it, so he stands and brushes past her, hand resting for a brief moment at her waist. His thumb strokes absently once, twice across her hip. She feels her throat flush. He reaches into the lowest drawer of the filing cabinet and reveals a styrofoam cooler filled with ice and a half pint of sweet cream creamer. 

She snorts a laugh and takes it from him, surprised to find that it's not open yet. 

She thinks she already knows the answer, but she asks, “Did you buy this just for me?” 

“Did you wear that just for me?” he counters, sidling back to his desk. 

Her hand slips and a big splash of cream falls into her coffee, turning it the color of a thin manilla folder. She curses. 

“Wear what?” she snaps, irritable now. 

“That black, silky… mesh thing,” he says, shy again now. There is an innocent, boyish delight on his face, like he’s just seen an alien craft for the first time. “I didn't know you still had it.” 

She opens her mouth to quip something in response, but realizes she is grinning instead. “Did you make coffee this morning in an attempt to butter me up, Agent Mulder?” 

“That depends, is it working?” 

She sits down across from him and takes a sip of her pale coffee, shifting so that the very top of the lace beneath her blouse can be seen peeking out if he looks hard enough. “We’ll have to find out, won't we?” she asks, her voice low.


End file.
